the gift of memory

"I'm tired. Not physically tired. I'm just tired of this," said Karl.

I know. I know he is tired.

He is tired of his legs aching when our son sits on his foot to be carried around the house. He is tired of his back hurting when he carries our daughter. He is tired of his body cracking and popping when he gets out of bed. He is tired of feeling like an old man. He is tired of having an old man's mind too.

I am hyper-vigilant about suicidal depression, so when Karl says he is tired, I immediately ask if he is thinking of killing himself.

"No," he says and laughs, "And I'm not going to say I'm a survivor either!"

I stare at him blankly, not getting the reference.

"Like that guy in that movie," Karl reminds me, "he said he was a survivor and you said 'he's going to kill himself.'"

Oh, yeah. I knew it. He was a supporting character in Music Within and a veteran with PTSD. As soon as he said "I'm a survivor," in his I'll-be-fine speech, I knew it and I was right, but why does Karl remember that enough to make an off-hand reference? If questioned, I doubt he would remember the name of the movie, but he could probably give a pretty good plot summary. Maybe it is because Karl identified with the characters who couldn't find their way back to civilian life. Maybe it is because war was a central theme to the movie. Karl often remembers random facts involving war, guns, knives, swords and defenses. I'm not sure where he stores these, but it is not the same place his brain tosses practical information.

I wonder if when Karl forgets where we live, he will remember how a trigger system works. Maybe one day, I will put a card in his wallet with our address and a picture of our house. One of the reasons we chose this house is that it is within walking distance to the library and our children's elementary school, not to mention a variety of stores and restaurants. Not only are they within a one mile radius, but they are on the same street. To get to the library, you walk out our door and turn right. To get to the school, you turn left. You walk until you get there and to get home, you turn around. It is unlikely Karl will have a problem finding the grocery store, the gas station, the medical marijuana dispensary or the library any time soon.

One day he may have a problem navigating our straight road, but not yet. Yesterday he walked a mile with the kids to take them to their school playground so they could spend an hour on the monkey bars. This is a gift. It is a gift that Karl is able to spend so much time with our children while they are young. It is a gift that they will have memories of him, even if he may not retain memories of them.